Le Lever du Soleil
The sky is a soft blue that fades into pale rose in the east. Colin has heard about sunrises, but he's never seen one. When he wakes for school, the sun is already up, and he's figured out that he likes to sleep in on the weekends.
He exhales and watches his breath dissipate into the crisp morning air. The edge of the horizon is on fire now, orange radiance starting at the tree line and spreading across the sky. The wispy lavender of the clouds has faded, replaced with gleaming gold so brilliant that Colin squints when he looks at it.
Footsteps crunch on the snow behind him. A twig snaps, and a familiar voice yawns quietly. "It's like, six-thirty in the morning. 's everything okay?" Ephram's speech is slurred with sleep.
Colin doesn't answer. His eyes are fixed on the horizon. The impression of flames is gone, and a gentle glow is permeating the atmosphere above the trees. He begins to wonder how long sunrises take when he sees it: the tip of the burning sun.
It climbs slowly above the tree line, blazing crimson and strangely vulnerable. Colin knows the sun that shines steadily down onto the ski slopes, faithful and reliable. He's even seen it sink reluctantly into night, giving way to its solemn, pale sister. But this sun is foreign, an exquisite, dangerous inferno waiting to engulf him, and Colin is frightened and fascinated and intoxicated all at once.
Ephram's voice startles him. He'd forgotten he wasn't alone. "It's beautiful," he murmurs.
"Yeah," Colin agrees absently, wondering if he's going to go blind from staring this intently at the sun and deciding he doesn't care. "Beautiful."
When he finally turns around to go back inside, Colin notices that Ephram isn't looking at the sky at all.
The sky is a soft blue that fades into pale rose in the east. Colin has heard about sunrises, but he's never seen one. When he wakes for school, the sun is already up, and he's figured out that he likes to sleep in on the weekends.
He exhales and watches his breath dissipate into the crisp morning air. The edge of the horizon is on fire now, orange radiance starting at the tree line and spreading across the sky. The wispy lavender of the clouds has faded, replaced with gleaming gold so brilliant that Colin squints when he looks at it.
Footsteps crunch on the snow behind him. A twig snaps, and a familiar voice yawns quietly. "It's like, six-thirty in the morning. 's everything okay?" Ephram's speech is slurred with sleep.
Colin doesn't answer. His eyes are fixed on the horizon. The impression of flames is gone, and a gentle glow is permeating the atmosphere above the trees. He begins to wonder how long sunrises take when he sees it: the tip of the burning sun.
It climbs slowly above the tree line, blazing crimson and strangely vulnerable. Colin knows the sun that shines steadily down onto the ski slopes, faithful and reliable. He's even seen it sink reluctantly into night, giving way to its solemn, pale sister. But this sun is foreign, an exquisite, dangerous inferno waiting to engulf him, and Colin is frightened and fascinated and intoxicated all at once.
Ephram's voice startles him. He'd forgotten he wasn't alone. "It's beautiful," he murmurs.
"Yeah," Colin agrees absently, wondering if he's going to go blind from staring this intently at the sun and deciding he doesn't care. "Beautiful."
When he finally turns around to go back inside, Colin notices that Ephram isn't looking at the sky at all.